Often as I sleep, Zion, I hear your canyon's colorscolliding, as the wind whispers through crafted river cane. Once again, Grandfather Coyote,

tall and unwavering, is here with me, dancingbeneath the ever present eyes of Spotted Owl-whistling from his Northern Perch.

I sense the flute's warble snake through my own bones,reminding me of just how my Creator has fine-tuned these precious notes- of breath, of blood, of circulation, of heart'srhythm, beating- into strident melodies, both tender and sharp as the whittled arrow. Zion, as you giftme even more treasured time here, deep within

your rainbow walls, I fear that in being so filledwith your Spirit, I may wish to never return-to that other land, where sight and hearing